


Spark of Inspiration

by shamusandstone (theleaveswant)



Category: Heroes - Fandom, Kill Bill (2003 2004)
Genre: Abduction, Gen, Names, Role Models
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2009-03-29
Updated: 2009-03-29
Packaged: 2017-10-20 16:18:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 886
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/214646
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/theleaveswant/pseuds/shamusandstone
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Runaway teen Bishop is retrieved by hired blade Driver, providing her with exactly the kind of role model she probably doesn't need.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Spark of Inspiration

**Author's Note:**

> Written for in_a_name; pre-canon for both fandoms.

Elle _saw_ the woman with the eye-patch, lounging in her black suit by the convertible in the handicapped parking spot next to the motel entrance, but she wouldn't say she really _noticed_ her. If she had she might have turned around and gone back to her stolen car rather than walking right past her to the lobby desk with her stolen credit card and renting a room. She might at least have paid more attention to the eerie whistling following her down the cloistered walk to the numbered door, noticed when it stopped, and not been so totally caught off guard when a hand grabbed the back of her neck and cracked her skull against the door frame as soon as she got the door unlocked.

When Elle could think again, three things penetrated her awareness at once: lying face-up with her wrists pinned under her tailbone; cold fingers slapping against her cheek; and pain like an avalanche inside her head. She knew opening her eyes was a bad idea, but did it anyway. It seemed inevitable. “Fuuuuck!” she moaned as the pain proliferated.

“That's it, bug zapper,” the woman murmured, black patch and blue eye framed by straight blonde hair looming in to block out the motel room ceiling. Her voice was husky and rich, and she grabbed Elle's face roughly, crushing her cheeks against her molars, and shaking her head back and forth and tripling the force of the avalanche. “Rise and shine.”

Elle scrunched up her face and released a pulse of electricity, knocking her assailant away from her and into the room's solitary chair. She pushed up to sitting with her hands, discovering in the process that they were bound together. Her fingertips tasted something gummy. She clenched her fists experimentally: her hands were enclosed in rubber gloves.

The older woman smacked her palm against the chair and laughed. “Should have expected that. Like shaking the last juice out of a battery. Hope you enjoyed it, bitch, 'cause it'll be the last watt you fart, at least until that tranquilizer wears off.”

“You're going to regret this,” Elle said, pouring as much venom into the words as she could. “If you don't fucking let me go right this instant, my dad is gonna--”

“It was your darling daddy who hired me, you stupid little girl.” She stood, towering over Elle, and pushed her back down to the floor with her boot.

“Word is he threw a pretty good tantrum when he found out his little princess had slipped her handlers, and that word must be true or I wouldn't be here. I'd say I didn't blame him, after all the effort he's invested in training you, but that would imply that I gave half a shit. Now,” she adjusted her stance, digging her heel sharply into Elle's solar plexus, making her grunt, “I've got a lot of work to do today. For example, I heard this morning that an old friend just woke up out of the coma I helped put her in four years ago and is quite likely gunning for my head, so right now I'd really rather be concentrating on putting her down proper before she does me than on babysitting some sheltered eighteen-year-old special. Now, given my state of distraction and given that this friend is a skinny weasel-faced blonde tramp very much like yourself, it's possible that I could get the two jobs mixed up. I don't think you'd like that, and as the contract clearly specified that you be returned alive, the jeopardy it would put my paycheck in would somewhat dampen my own enjoyment. More bluntly phrased, I'm going to try my best not to kill you.”

She removed her foot. Elle coughed and tried to sit up again, but was pushed back to the floor as her captor knelt at her shoulder.

“That said, there's nothing in those terms about bringing you back pretty.” She drew a ceramic-bladed knife from an armpit scabbard and brushed the blunt edge over Elle's cheek. “You won't give me any trouble now, will you Elle?”

Elle scowled. “No, ma'am,” she ground out through clenched teeth.

“Good girl.” She tilted her head, fixing her with her good eye and frowning quizzically. “Are you really eighteen?”

Elle nodded.

“You don't look eighteen. You look . . . I don't know whether to say older or younger, but you don't look eighteen.” She snorted. “I remember eighteen. Damn, that was a long time ago. You know at eighteen I could still count my kills on my toes? Now I can't even keep track.” She sighed nostalgically.

Elle blinked up at her, skeptical but also, she had to admit, impressed. The bitch was crazy, absolutely, but she was stone-cold. She knew most of the folks at the Company had killed before, and some of them were pretty bad-ass, but none of them had the butter-wouldn't-melt tone of a professional assassin. It was kind of like meeting a rock star.

“Come on.” The mercenary grabbed an arm and yanked her up to her feet.

“Can I at least ask your name?” Elle asked, wobbling a little as she was pushed roughly out into the sunlight.

“You can ask,” she said, then smiled, a crooked, wolfish grin. “It's Elle.”

“No shit.” The girl returned her feral smirk.


End file.
